Captive
by Dino Poop
Summary: [Vegeta x Bulma] Vegeta's ship is the last place a vulnerable earthling would want to end up being held captive, but with an attractive prince watching her every move, Bulma is adamant that he's not as sour as he seems. Rated M for future lemon.
1. Lights Outside Capsule Corp

**Oh boy, I've had this idea for sooo long but was never satisfied to continue until recently. This fic is slightly inspired by all the tropes and situations that kind of lingered in my memory from all the dbz fics I read here when I was 11-14.**

 **Also, this fic** _ **will**_ **contain mature content, lemons etc, but I've decided to play around with the idea of not incorporating a lot of swearing in the** _ **dialogue**_ **, because I feel like it cheapens the characters. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or the characters portrayed in this story, and all that fun stuff.**

* * *

 **Breathe i** **n the light,**

 **I'll stay here i** **n the shadows.**

 **CHAPTER ONE: Lights Outside Capsule Corp**

A loose screw rolled silently along the marble bench and landed with a soft ting onto the linoleum floor. Bulma put down the gadget she had been tinkering with and with a noise of exasperation, blew a blue lock from her face. Nothing seemed to be working for her. She had a deadline she'd been losing sleep over, yet she had an itch that she wouldn't meet it anyhow.

 _And now, live from the streets of West City, is the story baffling locals. Just hours ago, residents from all over Japan left their homes to stare in awe as mysterious lights…_

Bulma's curiosity diminished as quickly as it had peaked. People were always making a big deal over things in the sky. It was always 'lights' nobody seemed to get a video of, or it ended up being something of her own father's invention. He was famous for strange aircraft designs. The military admired him for it.

The report droned off into mere white-noise in the distance.

 _The day that aliens make contact with West City is the day I selflessly offer them my brains and beauty,_ she mused. The idea was far-fetched. At least ' _Bulma, the Intergalactic Queen'_ was something that could sate her high maintenance lifestyle and the impulse to be dramatic.

Bulma got up from her seat, and straightened out the ache in her back. It was a wonder how she had ever maintained her physical health.

She glanced down at the expensive watch that adorned her wrist. It was half-past ten. A certain tiredness overcame her, but she didn't feel the need to sleep yet. She always figured it was better to work until she had to lifelessly drag herself to the closest leather couch than to toss and turn in an empty bed, alone with her thoughts and unspoken insecurities.

Not that there were many, of course, but they were always amplified by the loneliness she often felt.

Bulma was damn close to perfect; at least, the closest out of anyone she had ever met, and she'd met them all. Celebrities, renowned scientists, eccentrics… She always had something they didn't. She was beautiful, cunning, extremely intelligent with a fiery personality and a passion for many things that she utilised to her advantage.

 _So why can't I find a damn boyfriend?_ Bulma thought bitterly. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and stepped outside the west entrance.

The cool air hit her immediately, wind whipping around her blue locks as goosebumps rose on her exposed skin. She'd been wearing an orange playsuit, paired with a white shawl that didn't seem to fight off the chill that creeped over her as much as she hugged it close. The grass was soft and cold and damp under her bare feet as she slowly covered the length from Capsule Corp to the gazebo in the middle of the yard.

The wind died down, and something felt off.

The air was still. The only sound to accompany her sharp breaths of cold air was the distant barking of a dog… or three, yapping somewhere down the road. It felt as if the birds and the insects stopped to watch.

Bulma always felt comfortable on her property. It was mostly just her and her mother, with the occasional employee hanging about. She'd often go to the gazebo, which had been fitted with furniture reminiscent of a living room, when she was bored or just needed a break. But, for probably the first time since the death of her father, she felt like she should go back inside.

It was a feeling, a gut instinct that something was terribly wrong or out of place, but she couldn't place her finger on it. It was a discomfort to the atmosphere, a noticeable shift in nature itself.

As she halted, no more than 3 meters from her desired destination, a light blinded her. Bulma shielded her eyes, heart in her throat as she froze in place from fright. It was comparable to a dozen spotlights, all simultaneously switched on in the sky above.

The intensity of the lights diminished, as they moved further upward. More distracting than the sudden occurrence, however, was what sounded like the crack of a whip, and then the ground Bulma stood on trembled.

She peeked open an eye, and when her vision sufficiently adjusted to her surroundings, the other snapped open. Blue eyes wide as plates, she stared at the figures before her. Cracks veined out in the ground under their white boots, spreading over the pasture with patterns of lightning from the craters in which they now stood. Two men; one big in height and build, and the other much shorter and less bulky.

With the light above illuminating the people that had appeared out of nowhere, she observed them.

The taller one was bald, save for some weak facial hair. He wore a smirk that Bulma could only guess the meaning of. The man beside him was a few feet shorter, his hair stood like flame, the coal-black colour accentuated his eyes, which were narrowed in what seemed like irritation.

"You – woman," flame-o addressed rudely. He was dressed in blue spandex and some weird armoured chest plate on top. "State your purpose."

Bulma was flabbergasted.

Not only was this guy incredibly rude, but he ordered her as if _she_ was imposing on _his_ property. As far as she was concerned, she didn't answer to anybody, especially not weird men that fall from the sky.

Did they even know who they were speaking to?

"My _name_ is _Bulma!_ And state _your_ purpose, you creep!" She countered, on the defensive.

The taller, bald man advanced on her slowly, his figure towering the closer he got.

"You have some nerve speaking to Prince Vegeta like that," he said. Prince? Pfffft. He looked like he couldn't even ride the teacups at Disneyland. The thought was amusing, but Bulma's firm expression never broke, especially when the man took another menacing step closer. "I ought to teach you a lesson."

Bulma backed away.

"I'm a scientist and inventor. Haven't you heard?" She gestured crudely to the large, dome-shaped building behind her that was impossible to miss. The Capsule Corp logo should have been a dead giveaway to anybody who knew anything, which is partially why she felt a spike of fear deep inside. Even foreign people knew of the business. "You guys aren't from around here, are you?"

The large bald man halted in his tracks, a deep rumbling laugh came from the short man still standing where he had first appeared, with his arms folded across his chest. Bulma looked him up and down, her eyes nearly bulging out when she noticed it; something brown and furry wrapped tight around his waist. She looked timidly to the closer man and noticed he also had one.

"We're visiting," the one known as Vegeta said with an air of sarcasm to his tone. Or was it pretentiousness she could detect? Either way, it was far off from her own attitude; she never sounded _that_ rude saying two very general words. "We were pointed in this direction. Unfortunately, the last city to have crossed our path had some _… minor difficulties_."

"Minor difficulties?"

He spoke as if he were referring to an object, like an electronic device that encountered some technical malfunction, rather than a thriving community of living, breathing people. It was kind of pathetic; but Bulma found herself doubting that he would have any regard for a thriving community of living, breathing people anyhow, if 'minor difficulties' meant what it sounded like he had meant. For the sake of her friends in the neighbouring cities, she hoped not.

"They wouldn't divulge the information we required. So, we _obliterated_ them. It would be a shame if the same thing had to happen to you, wouldn't it?"

The world stopped spinning. Bulma's breath hitched in her throat as she stared, as if it had been the most insane, yet totally plausible thing she'd heard all year. It probably wasn't; with her status and fortune, and the events she attended every month, she had heard and experienced it all. Hell, there was even the incident with the man who had been stalking her for months. He found a way to tap her phone, and showed up uninvited to an exclusive party.

With a gun.

Even though that was a terrifying moment in her life, she had been able to rationalize it. Obsession was a dangerous thing. A lot of people were subjected to it; celebrities, and normal civilians alike. It was something close to human, as unfortunate as it was. This, here, in front of her – granted it was real and she wasn't dreaming the entire thing - was different. It was pure unadulterated evil, with no good motive that she knew of yet.

Bulma felt the world falling from beneath her feet, as she observed the expressions of the men. Their looks were pointed and mischievous, yet there was nothing that she could take as a sign of lying. She considered the close friends she had made over the years, all over Japan and close to West City. For their sake, she prayed they were.

"A real shame," Bulma muttered, her voice cracking slightly as the words came out in barely above a whisper. Her throat was so dry. She calculated her next move. She could run, but she didn't like her chances. She was a bold woman, not suicidal. The final conjecture was for Bulma to play her cards carefully until she knew exactly what she was up against. "What do you need to know?"

"Unfortunately," Vegeta begins, his eyes cast to the ground. He had no interest in hiding his amusement as he made his proposition – except it wasn't some business pitch. Hell, it wasn't even a proposition, because Bulma had no choice in the matter. "You're going to be spending some time with us."

"Like _hell_ ," she had managed to steady her voice significantly in order to spit out the two simple words of doubt, before she even had the chance to stop and reconsider the possibility that they weren't forces to be reckoned with.

Words had great, influential power; too bad they always got Bulma into situations she couldn't dig herself out.

"Don't say we didn't warn you."

As Vegeta took another step forwards, Bulma did what she had been aching to do since the first mysterious instance in which the pair had appeared; she booked it in the other direction. She felt the dirt and grass coat the bottoms of her feet as she ran, still sufficiently cool, but no longer comforting. It didn't feel like freedom.

The door was so close, she could nearly feel the handle in her fingertips. She could feel the ghost of herself ripping the door damn-near off its hinges and then running to the phone to reward whichever private militia would arrive first. Between the thoughts of panic and strategy becoming confused in her mind, Bulma barely noticed that there were no footsteps slamming heavily on the pasture behind her.

In fact, other than her own dainty footsteps, the night had become suspiciously silent once again.

Bulma slammed into something, hard.

She hadn't even reached the outer wall of her home yet. Yet, there she was, stumbling back, her nose feeling heavy as the throbbing pain from the impact spread across her face. It was like running straight into a brick wall. There was a piercing pain behind her eyes, and she could practically feel the migraine pulsing to life.

All she could think as she hit the dirt, was how fast they must have moved for her not to have noticed them. It wasn't humanly possible, unless they had somehow gotten their hands on the new Dino Caps. That was unlikely, Bulma concluded, because they were still in the early stages of development.

The bald man loomed over her, his look of amusement replaced by the grave expression of somebody who was becoming quickly tired of Earth and its inhabitants. Vegeta was a little less imposing in stature, but he made up for it with what Bulma assumed was rank – despite being a prince as was established moments ago, the taller man seemed to require his approval before acting. Vegeta, with that shit-eating grin still adorned on his otherwise cute face, snatched up the collar of Bulma's playsuit in one gloved hand, pulling on the material until her back was straight and her face was inches from his own.

"Pull a stunt like that again, and you won't like the consequences," he said, and let go of her suit. She fell back into the slumped position she had landed in, hand falling over her head as she tried to comprehend everything that had happened since she had tuned into the radio. "Nappa, bring her."

 _Mysterious lights._

They had come in some sort of spaceship. The news had been accurate for once; talk of aliens, and first encounters… Now she was being abducted by two of them. Bulma's eyes travelled up to the sky. There was nothing.

 _Bastards._

Nappa's fist closed around Bulma's bicep, easily encasing a large portion of her limb in his enormous hand with room to spare. His fingers dug into her flesh, prodding her muscles, nearly shifting them under her skin as he guided her across the pasture. She cried out in pain, ignored by the mulish duo. They stopped just on the outskirts of the yard.

"Let me go, please. I'll tell you what you need. I have cash. I'm – I'm too pretty to die," Bulma blurted, the panic rising. Her eyes narrowed when Nappa refused to even spare a glance at her, and she began to thrash and hit and kick, the best she could with one arm so tightly held. "Let go of me, you creep! Let – me—go—"

Nappa laughed. Vegeta simply grunted.

A strange distant engine startled Bulma, growing in volume as a cluster of lights appeared in the distance. They grew closer, spreading out as they advanced towards their location, until they formed a perfect circle. Wind whipped Bulma's blue locks around her face as the vehicle whooshed to a stop directly above the three of them, hovering patiently as a circular door on the underside of the ship slid apart with a mechanical whirring. A beam of light flooded out from the opening, blinding Bulma once more.

She watched in awe as Vegeta, with his arms folded angrily, rose from the ground, and disappeared into the ship. Nappa followed. Bulma was forced onto the tips of her toes, and let out a displeased yell when they lost contact with the Earth's surface. Her arm throbbed and pulsated in Nappa's hand; she was going to have a nasty bruise. Her stomach dropped, the enormity that was Capsule Corp grew significantly miniscule the further she was dragged into the air.

Bulma didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to her mother. Hell, she didn't even get to pack any shampoo. That was the real crime.

The air grew warm, as the sharp lighting became brighter through her eyelids clenched desperately shut. An involuntary gasp left Bulma's quivering lips when her feet contacted a solid surface. She clung to Nappa, untrusting of her jelly-like legs to hold her weight. Instead, she simply peeked open one eye, taking in her surroundings.

The silvery-white walls gleamed. A large window dominated the impressively high wall in front of where she stood, giving view to the deep black sky littered with stars. She could see the faint outline of the city below, and the jagged peaks of the mountain beyond. The rounded room was mostly empty, except for the cluster of grotesque men in similar armour to Vegeta gawking at her, and a strange-looking chair in the middle.

"Who's this pretty little thing?" A more human-like man with particularly long black hair asked, and stepped forwards to examine Bulma a little invasively. She swatted his wondering hands, brows furrowed in discontent. "Feisty."

"I don't know and frankly – I don't really care," Vegeta muttered matter-of-factly, watching as the lower-class Saiyan, Raditz, taunted the human woman he didn't care for much. As far as he was concerned, humans were below him. Hell, even his own men were below him. He had one true priority, and that was his own ambitions. "She's here with one purpose. Do what you want with her. _Be my guest_ – just _try_ to keep her alive for your own sake."

"Keep your hands to yourself, creep. And _you—"_ Bulma pointed an accusatory finger at Vegeta. "—will tell your men to stay the hell away from me if you want the information you need. Got it?"

Her bold personality was what helped her succeed in life. After all, you don't do business with some of the biggest corporations on Earth if you can't firmly make a pitch. However, she wasn't swapping gadgets for a six-digit number. Bulma was gambling her own life, with the words flying out of her mouth before she could even stop to wonder if they made sense in the first place. Sometimes, she wished she had a filter.

"You're hardly in a position to make threats," Vegeta countered, adopting his amused expression and tone from earlier. She'd love to wipe the damn thing off his face for good. "What with your broken nose, and poor decision-making skills."

"The only poor decision I've made is not hitting you upside the head. Arrogant jerk."

The room fell silent, as his crew looked onwards to their prince, awaiting his response with anticipation. Bulma stood her ground, glaring daggers at Vegeta, who's own expression hardened. At least she had the ability to affect him, even if not physically. That grain of knowledge satisfied her more than she could admit aloud in a room full of his dedicated followers; it gave her the confidence she needed not to crumble when his glare slowly lifted into a crazed grin.

 **Jeez, the first chapter is finally done. The next chapter is vegeta's reaction, of course, and more of a look into bulma's new personal hatred for him (and vice versa) and the living conditions in which she is now stuck. Reviews are appreciated & thanks for reading!**


	2. Zorn Knows All (But Says Little)

**Distant stars come in black or red.**

 **I've seen their worlds inside my head.**

 **CHAPTER TWO: Zorn Knows All (But Says Little)**

 _Bulma mulled over the events of the day prior as she picked at her food._

The engine had picked up, the rumbling was significantly quieter from the inside. The only indicator that the ship had even hummed to life to begin its ascent, was the sudden jerk, and a course of vibrations under Bulma's feet as she stood there, being eyed down by the Prince himself. He really had a habit of making people feel like a piece of meat, she noted, and it hadn't even been an hour since their unpleasant introduction.

She could see over his shoulder the stars moving south when the altercation had begun. The ship was travelling upwards at a comfortably slow pace. She was grateful as the anxiety of space bubbled through her veins, but time dragged on painfully when she could barely even support her own weight anymore.

" _The only poor decision I've made is not hitting you upside the head. Arrogant jerk."_

The threat lingered in the still air. Onlookers were visibly divided between expressions of contempt for her disrespect, and anticipation of Vegeta's response. Their gazes switched rapidly from Bulma to their prince.

"Your poorest decision, my dear _Bulma,_ was not keeping your mouth shut," Vegeta spat after what felt like an eternity, his narrowed eyes trained on hers as he took several minacious steps forward. He was not somebody to be disrespected – the brat before him obviously had never crossed paths with somebody of such superiority before. Even if she had, those foolish Earth worms were unrivalled to his own greatness – he was a warrior, a conqueror. "I'm afraid you should have listened the first time. Your insolent comments are going to cost you… _And_ your pathetic world."

Bulma's heart skipped a beat. She was adamant on maintaining her confidence, but it was being chipped away with every passing moment. She wasn't sure what she would do if any harm came to Earth, especially with the knowledge that it was her own fault. Bulma hadn't even learned her purpose on Vegeta's ship yet and she already had the fate of her home in her hands, slipping just out of reach of security.

"Wh—What—" her attempt at a steady voice was interrupted by her own nerves, and then a violent jerk in the flight pattern that sent Bulma into the arms of the closest person, who caught her probably unwillingly. Bulma was weighed down as the gravity intensified, the view outside blurred as the ship rocketed into the exosphere.

Laughs erupted around her as Bulma gripped tight to the unidentified man with a messy of spiky black hair, her vision darkening.

"Listen up, boys," Vegeta announced, throwing his arms across his chest once again. Bulma was beginning to think that was his signature position. "Take this as an example of the price of insubordination."

Bulma stared in awe at the blue globe just outside the window, littered in swirls and sheets of white. In some spots peeking through the clouds, were glowing orange dots and lines, all adjoined in a large pattern of light pollution. It was so incomprehensibly gigantic from the perspective of space; Bulma could ponder her sheer insignificance for hours if it wasn't for the intention in Vegeta's blazing ebony eyes.

Take _what_ as an example, she wanted to ask, though the words would never come out properly even if she tried - her throat was dry, and strained.

Vegeta turned his back on her, gazing out to the cosmos and the predominantly blue globe that dominated most of the view. His arms hung slack at his sides, his body convulsed as a gruff laugh rumbled from his chest and sent shivers prickling down Bulma's spine. She was sure if she could see his face, he'd resemble some raving lunatic in those films that aired on TV every year around Halloween; his eyes would be ablaze with unspoken fury, eyebrows drawn in, his face twitching maniacally.

Without a single word to sate Bulma's unspoken curiosity and terror, Vegeta simply raised an arm, now standing side-on and parallel to the walls on either side, his finger pointed at Earth.

"Your kind is so weak. It's pitiful."

Vegeta's extended finger seemed to glow. Bulma stared curiously from her spot close to the man that had caught her just moments prior. Light burst from Vegeta's fingertip, taking form of a ball no bigger than a pin and gradually expanding to the size of a tennis ball. The sphere cast a quivering blue and white shadow over the room, dancing gracefully in the air.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. Bulma's stomach dropped. There was a certain intention so blatant in his expression. Her eyes flicked from him, arm now extended, to the globe he was pointing at.

Earth.

Bulma leapt to her feet, charged at Vegeta, her shoulder slammed into his armour as she crashed to the ground. The ball radiated so much heat, she felt it burn her face before it quickly dissipated, along with the prince's dignity and composure. Angered murmurs broke out in the room, two men rushed to pick the captive from the floor.

"You fool!" One spat

She felt dazed. Having acted so spontaneously even for her, she'd barely even realized what she had done until she looked up, only to see Vegeta towering over her, jaw clenched with supressed anger. With eyes as black as coal blazing with all the fury of the sun, he looked down on Bulma.

"The next time you act so boldly…" He trailed off, momentarily leaving the onlookers to dwell on the heightening tension. "It'll be you out of the airlock. _Zorn_. Show her to her room before I lay waste to this worthless scum."

Bulma was yanked to her feet and roughly steered towards the door. The Saiyan's clearly were not impressed.

"You've got a lot of nerve," the one that had caught her when she had stumbled, and that she assumed was Zorn had said; it sounded more alike to an observation than a threat. "Pull a stunt like that again, I dare you. I've been seeing people get blasted to smithereens since King Vegeta was in charge."

Bulma was in her own little world. One far away from this wretched place. It had been no more than an hour or two since she was forced to abandon her mother and everything else she knew, and the weight of the situation was almost unbearable. She always had a strong head on her shoulders, which is probably why she was able to act so quickly – but it really wasn't her smartest choice.

They had stopped outside of a door which promptly slid into the roof with a mechanical whirring, and Bulma was gently shoved inside as Zorn rambled on about her knew eating and sleeping schedule and god knows what else. He left not long after, and she finally let out the breath that burned her lungs, as she slid down the wall with defeat.

 _The day that aliens make contact with West City is the day I selflessly offer them my brains and beauty._

Her knees quivered. She was alone at last, to let the tears fall freely though she was not weak.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. In a personal act of defiance, she had simply cried until the tears turned into furious cackling. The uncomfortable-looking bed in the corner shaped as a pod went unnoticed; her bed was the floor when she finally ran out of the energy she required to actually move herself.

Other than the bed, the 3x3 room was unfurnished. Bulma figured it made enough sense – she wouldn't be spending much time in the bedroom anyhow, and expecting it to come with a bookshelf or a TV was only ludicrous. A desk would be nice, though. If her purpose was to repair small gadgets, especially.

At approximately 7:00AM, according to Bulma's watch, she was ushered out of her room by Zorn. He didn't offer her much communication, except a tiny hint of a smile, but she supposed he was just trying to be polite. Thank heavens, at least _somebody_ was.

"You are expected in the mess hall. This will probably be the only time you eat for a while, so I'd really take advantage of the prince's kindness…" Zorn trailed off into a tangent about Vegeta's other personnel. From what she gathered, Raditz – the man that had been rather touchy the night before – was often predatory when it came to women. Nappa was hot-headed, but could be tolerable if you showed him and the prince respect.

There wasn't much to say about the others, except they were all considered low-class, and would probably try for Bulma if she wasn't careful. She wasn't sure if he meant that they had sexual intentions, or if they were more on the sadistic side, but either way, she was deeply discomforted by the thought. After all, Vegeta had pretty much offered her up to whoever wanted her.

"Your purpose is of the utmost importance, especially as we get closer to Frieza. I'll fill you in after you eat," she took an instant liking to Zorn – he was to-the-point and wasn't interested in her harm. In fact, he seemed quite opposed to her harm. Taking his time to inform her of the dangers onboard spoke volumes.

"Who's Frieza?" Bulma asked tentatively. Her voice was a lot softer than she had meant, but she was certain Zorn had heard. He just chose not to answer. _Touchy subject._

The 'mess hall' was in what Bulma guessed was the centre of the ship. It was a large space that had high walls lined with circular lamps, and a long, pristine table that rose from the floor and split down the middle of the room. Zorn escorted her to a gleaming, metallic stool that matched the table, floor, and walls. Everything was so damn clean.

A square hatch folded open on the table, and a tray lifted from the secret compartment, to Bulma's amazement. The heavy bags under her burning eyes forgotten, she simply contemplated what other advanced technology they must have onboard. Maybe there was a laser beam she could use to slice up Vegeta if he threatened Earth again.

 _Earth!_

She glanced around for a window, but remembered they were in the centre. She'd have to wait until she was wondering the hallways on the outer side of the ship. The food in front of her suddenly didn't seem very appetising at all. Speaking of which—

"What is it?" Bulma asked, prodding what looked like a shell, a mute grey in colour, with the utensils that had come prepared on the tray. The stench that wafted from it was even worse than the food itself looked, and it looked pretty terrible.

"Arlian, I believe," Zorn responded with only a quick glance to the food. He seemed pretty invested in his own thoughts.

"Arl— _what?"_

It sounded like a race of people. Whatever it was, Bulma didn't want to put it anywhere near her mouth. She'd kill for some bacon and eggs, though, yet she doubted very much that any neighbouring planets offered such specific food. Instead, she gave a quick pat to her stomach with encouragement that it wouldn't betray her and begin to rumble in a few hours, and she stood up.

"I'm not hungry," she said.

Zorn made an uncertain expression, "Well, if you're sure… Follow me."

After a decent walk through the lengthy corridors of the ship, and several displeasing encounters with Vegeta's men - namely Raditz' constant leering, they had made it to an even larger room than where they had been the night before. It appeared like the remnants of a launch pad of sorts, where the launch zone had been was now chucks of debris and cracks veining out through the floors and then into the walls.

Zorn gestured to the wreckage which Bulma had no problem noticing for herself.

Taking up one side of the room was a row of massive pod-like vehicles, rusted and dirty where they once appeared to be white. Whole chunks were missing from some of them, including doors and entire interior. An electrical hiss echoed through the garage-like room, as broken wires tangled and fried together.

"You want all of them repaired?"

"That was the idea. Not many Saiyans were engineers or scientists – we were a warrior race."

"Uh-huh, think with your fists and not with your head. This would be easier if I knew what materials I was working with," Bulma admitted, dropping to a crouch in order to inspect the interior of one of the more damaged pods. It didn't surprise her in the slightest that they had come from a violent background. "I've never worked on something this big alone. I mean, it certainly isn't impossible…"

"You'd better hope not."

Bulma rolled her eyes, expression contorted into something akin to a mother copping attitude from their pre-teen child. She turned on her heel, and looked up to the catwalk that lined the opposite wall above, implying there were two levels of the ship. Bulma had made the mistake of believing the ship was big enough on its own. Vegeta stood behind the railing, arms characteristically crossed over his chest, feet parted as he gazed down at the pair with judging eyes.

"I think I've suddenly forgotten how to fix stuff," Bulma was passionate about the work she had grown up doing – which is why she didn't take too kindly to pretentious threats about her abilities.

"Then you've outlived your usefulness."

Bulma waved him off. "I'll get it done, all right? Sheesh. It's gonna be impossible to work if you pester me every 5 seconds, so beat it."

Vegeta grunted, and with a mechanical hiss, he left them to their own devices. It was so infuriating. Bulma never had to tiptoe around people. Even the most explosive and spontaneous of people on Earth weren't spared from the fury of a woman so privileged. It was too bad her status made no difference whilst held captive by a band of space pirates. _In space,_ no less.

"Please understand Prince Vegeta just lost his father and his entire kingdom."

"Understand? Hell no! I lost my father too, but you don't see me going around kidnapping people and forcing them into slavery for my own selfish gain," Bulma huffed, hands on her hips, eyeing where Vegeta had just been standing. "Sorry you lost your home planet, but it sounds like you people had issues even before then."

"He could be worse to you, you know. I'm surprised he's keeping you around with the way you talk to him."

Bulma shrugged. Admittedly, the thought did twist her gut a little – she didn't doubt for a second that he'd kill her if she got on his nerves. But, the desire to stay alive wasn't as passionate as her will to be herself, even if that meant acting like a brat and opening her mouth when it was best for everyone that it stayed closed.

" _Somebody's_ got to say what everybody here is thinking," she mumbled, before silently gathering up several pieces of debris to analyse. The shards of the foreign alloy that had chipped from the pods were smooth and cold under her fingertips. It was almost like a perfect shard of glass. "Where can I get these analysed?"

"Malaka has two medical labs on the other side of the ship; one will be equipped with the technology you require, I'm certain. Here, I'll take these there now. And you—well, you should get clean and meet me there afterwards," Zorn took the samples from Bulma's hands and turned to leave.

Bulma felt suddenly insecure – she had almost forgotten the feeling of a scalding hot shower, but she suddenly felt the grime on her skin, especially as it was – _she checked her watch_ – 10:00AM on Earth, which meant she hadn't showered for almost 20 hours.

"How am I supposed to find the showers? _Or_ the medical lab?!"

Zorn tapped a rectangular sign on the wall just outside of the room, and disappeared down the corridor. Bulma rushed out behind him, and observed the sign herself. She couldn't read the language, but there was an arrow beside a small depiction of a shower which she wanted to laugh at – it was such a subtle feature, yet so humorously Earth-like.

Memories came flooding back to Bulma. Being lost in foreign countries, unable to find the bathroom. There wasn't much different, except she was in space now. Being held captive. _By alien warriors._

 _What the hell is wrong with me,_ Bulma wondered as she followed the direction of the sign. She would duck into adjoined hallways if she saw anybody that appeared suspicious – or anything like Raditz – and resume her path when she was sure they were gone. She was lead to a narrow flight of stairs almost hidden in the wall.

Upstairs was pretty much identical to downstairs; with maze-like corridors of clean silvery-white walls and linoleum floors that reflected the light of the lamps that lined the roof. Bulma located another sign and continued to follow it, until she found the correct door.

She timidly pressed the blinking control pad on the wall, and waited as the door slid into the roof, a little quieter than the others. Steam flooded out into the corridor, blanketing her in its gross humidity. She could hear the faint splashing of water somewhere inside. Going against her better judgement which told her to turn around, she stepped into the room. It was tiled a little differently, just as Bulma had expected the bathroom to look, and took a sharp turn to the right after a few feet.

The door slid closed behind her. Bulma peered curiously around the corner of the dividing wall, her eyes widening. The sound of water stopped immediately, and Bulma threw herself back behind the wall. She had caught the brief sight of a smooth, white bench that lined one wall, and a row of pod-shaped cubicles; also that blinding white colour.

More shockingly, she had seen Vegeta, stark-naked. Bulma began to creep backwards, taking the opportunity to escape unnoticed and avoiding an embarrassing encounter.

"Who's there?" The gruff voice startled her. Bulma contemplated running, but she couldn't afford a repeat of the last time; her nose still ached considerably, she wondered for a second if it really was broken.

"It's… It's just me," she called back, cringing inwardly. Catching the person you loathe in the shower would probably never make it to her bucket list. "I was sent here to shower. I, uhh, didn't know…"

Bulma could hear the water dripping on the floor, and the rustling of a towel.

" _Hmph._ You have five minutes before the men finish their training," Vegeta informed her as he came into view, barely sparing her a glance as he moved past. He may have been an arrogant dick that nearly wiped out her entire species, but she couldn't help feel grateful for that tiny piece of information. "I suggest you make haste with whatever pointless female routine you have."

 _Aaaaand, he's an arrogant dick again._

"Where's the medical lab?" Bulma blurted. Rude comments aside, she had an opportunity to save herself wasting anymore time, so she obviously took it.

"Figure it out," Vegeta grumbled. A rush of heat overcame Bulma; it was fury at his unwillingness to even help her out, and humiliation at her own dumb choice not to question Zorn further. Maybe, there was even a sense of betrayal that he would make her blindly navigate through the ship on her own in the first place.

"Hey… Vegeta?" Bulma asked, cheeks red. Vegeta stopped in his tracks, head turned to the side. He simply grunted, indirectly prompting her to continue. Her eyes skimmed down the muscles of his back, to the sharp jut of his hips which helped snag up the towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He had broad shoulders, glistening with each tiny droplet of water that had been neglected when he left the shower. "What's an Arlian?"

Vegeta chuckled darkly, and walked away.

 **I'm the world's worst slacker. I didn't proof read this unfortunately, so hopefully I got everything decently the first time. Constructive criticism is more than welcome! Next chapter will probably expand more on the details of Bulma and there'll be more interaction with Vegeta.**


	3. Tragedies of the Past

**A/N: I'd like to extend a quick thank you to all the reviewers so far, I appreciate it more than you know. Also, sorry for the belated update! My excuse** ** _was_** **school, but now that I've graduated, I've been distracted by other things lol.**

 **I also realized when I was just about done this chapter a month or two ago, that the direction it was going made no sense, so I had to scrap it, and it took a while to get better inspiration and motivation to rewrite. Still, I can't say I'm entirely happy with how this chapter turned out.**

 **Once again, constructive criticism is always welcome if something makes no sense or needs elaboration. Thanks for reading!**

 **Oh, dark grin,**

 **He can't help when he's happy, he looks insane**

 **CHAPTER THREE: Tragedies of the Past**

Vegeta found himself gazing out into the cosmos once more. Zorn lingered by his shoulder, where he had spent a large quantity of time by King Vegeta before Frieza had blown the planet up. It was a miracle that so many of them had made it out alive, that the prince had managed to gather the remaining Saiyan's in a ship that once belonged to Frieza and his men.

Quite humorously, it must have been a kick in the face to the puny autarch, Zorn thought, but he hated to dwell on it. The past was the past, and he'd rather never think of Frieza again.

Vegeta, on the other hand, felt the opposite. The tyrant plagued his every thought after he had ripped his kingdom from his adolescent fingertips, after he had destroyed the very fabric of everything he knew and cherished. Promises were worth nothing more to that _pest_ than a grain of sand; fury bubbled in Vegeta's veins. He'd vowed to himself as he watched his planet explode in a blinding flash of white light that he wouldn't rest until Frieza was wiped from existence, and Vegeta had a kingdom to rule over once more.

Which is where that spoiled wench came into the picture.

Her role in his desires was quite insignificant in the grand scheme of things; _somebody_ needed to repair the basic technology and the fundamentals of _New_ Planet Vegeta _,_ and the pods were merely the first step _._ Especially if he wanted to assume Frieza's commanding role over the neighbouring systems by effectively gaining control over the Planet Trade. Even Zarbon and Dodoria could have a role in his command, right under his boot, tending to his every wish.

The thought brought a smirk to his face; he didn't intend on making their lives any easier.

Although he had also briefly pondered Bulma's possible role in the repopulation of the Saiyan race, ultimately, the thought of half-breeds littering his planet filled him with contempt and disgust.

 _Every hierarchy needs a lower class,_ he mused bitterly, _but I intend on keeping our race pure._

The past few days she had been confined to the long corridors and the small bedroom of Vegeta's ship, Bulma had noticed a few things; one being that alien carcass wasn't too bad if you could get past the concept – at least, it tasted similar enough to seafood and was better than nothing.

The food issue was something easily overcome; Bulma found that her appetite had diminished immensely, partially due to the sickness that came with being in a different gravity, a change so subtle she had barely noticed at first until pointed out by Zorn, and partially due to the lack of options. Eventually, the hunger overpowered her disgust and she had given the food a chance.

Vegeta was regularly disappearing from his quarters. Whether he was somewhere she hadn't yet explored, or attending to matters off the ship entirely, she wasn't sure. And to be honest, she didn't exactly care.

Except, she had grown reliant on their petty bickering. After all, without the back-and-forward comments, Bulma felt… dull. There was nothing emotionally stimulating about following the exact same routine every day, especially one as tedious as repairing a dozen pods. When Vegeta was around, at least she could feel angry at something – or hell, even proud when she struck the right nerve and got reactions out of him.

Though she had to admit to herself, he was damn cute, and there was no point in denying it. Guys could be attractive _and_ evil. She'd known that personally even back on Earth. His features were very pointed, from his straight nose to the sharpness of his cupids bow. Scars littered his skin, most notably through his right eyebrow; he somehow managed to appear both ruthless and delicate, and the conflicting appearance was confusing itself.

As for Vegeta, he found Bulma's courage and hope amusing. She worked with a certain concentration, the bright light in her eyes reflected her very soul as she tinkered with materials and tools she'd never even seen before; she worked diligently with the assumption it would bring her back home.

Perhaps she was right. Except, the more she opened her mouth, the more he longed to keep her around, to break her in more ways than one. He would see the glimmer of light in her crystal blue eyes die out; and he always got what he wanted.

"Your first task is to repair the pods, as we have already established," Zorn had said once Bulma reached the medical lab. The adjoined room had several large computer-like devices and analysers, along with other miscellaneous equipment which she assumed weren't operated much anymore.

Bulma conceded his explanation – she had no reason not to - though what he had informed her on so far was only a fragment of the galactic jigsaw puzzle she found herself responsible for completing. So, they needed some pods repaired – big whoop.

"But what does that have to do with this Frieza guy?" Bulma asked.

"You see, the pods are a vital aspect of how the Saiyan race operates under the Planet Trade – which, I believe, Vegeta intends to take over. The Planet trade being Frieza's main order of business in interplanetary domination."

"So, you need the pods to… take over other planets," Bulma concluded. Zorn smiled, happy that she had kept up, though she never returned the expression.

They had taken her against her will, and forced her into slavery and labour – for what? Evil. Fighting fire with fire – she was essentially helping bad guys overthrow other bad guys for the sole purpose of doing bad things.

Was the saying correct? That ignorance is bliss?

"In addition to the pods, it will also be your task to aid in the revival of Planet Vegeta – the specifics, I'm not sure on as of yet. Though, you'll know soon enough."

Bulma's breath hitched in her throat.

That whole time, she could have set them up with the dragon balls, and they'd already have what they wanted, without the guilt weighing forever on her conscience, or without the need to be so far from Earth. She silently boiled over, the frustration and anger overwhelming her ability to rationalize which actions were sensible and which weren't.

"That _lousy jerk!"_ Bulma exclaimed, her blue locks whipping around her face as she stormed out into the corridor.

Zorn followed close behind, pleading for her to stop. At one point, he had seized her by her bruised arm, immediately letting her go when she cried out in both fury and pain; a recipe for disaster.

He may have once been the Kings right-hand man, but he had always been quite levelled for a Saiyan. He was the peace-maker between oppositions, and in his experiences with the Earthling so far, he had picked up a subtle pattern. Bulma acted a _lot_ like Vegeta for somebody who probably had his name scrawled in large red font at the top of her shit list.

As Bulma covered the distance from the medical bay to the throne room, where she assumed the man of the hour may be, she considered telling somebody of the Dragon Balls and be done with this whole predicament. She'd only used them once, on a wish that was probably the most grievous misuse of their incredible power, but they were certainly still an option.

In fact, she should have told them from the get-go.

Though she didn't stop on her war path, something prevented her from mentioning the orange wish-granting orbs. An internal force ripped the words from her mouth whenever the thought occurred to her.

She had created the dragon ball radar to wish for a lifetime supply of strawberries, which in itself, was a testament to her greed. So what would stop these violently deranged men from wishing for something even more greedy - or sinister? Universal domination? Unlimited power? Immortality? And besides this fear, Bulma didn't like the thought of them turning around and heading back to Earth – she'd need to find her own way there.

The most sensible solution, she lamented, was to keep traveling further and further away from where she belonged, until they forgot about her poor, oblivious home planet. It'd already been far too close to destruction that week alone.

She would kill for some cheap, greasy takeout she had always hated and a scalding hot shower, and that very particular feeling of pride she always felt when getting prettied-up for events. Her mom also made the best sweets; but all of that was at stake. The wrong words to the wrong person could ruin those things forever.

And Vegeta was not somebody she felt she could trust.

"Bulma, please, just stop before you do something you'll regret," Zorn pleaded. Her name sounded strange coming from his mouth.

She'd considered it. She had been considering it since she had to physically throw herself at Vegeta to spare Earth. She was going to chew him out, and no airlock threat was going to stop her. So there Bulma was, storming down the corridor, her footsteps falling heavily on the ground. An echo resounded eerily throughout the ship. There was no going back once the door to the throne room had ascended into the ceiling with a light mechanical hiss.

Vegeta hadn't even turned around, though Bulma could see him staring through the reflection of the large window. She glanced out briefly; Earth was less than a speck in the distance as meteorites and other pieces of cosmic waste drifted graciously through the otherwise scenic backdrop of stars and colourful wisps of interstellar clouds.

"Do you really expect me to help you rebuild your _entire_ kingdom?!" Bulma yelled, fists balled at her sides, her jagged, neglected nails dug into the flesh of her palms. "You _kidnapped_ me, treated me worse than I've ever been treated in the short time I've been here and you – you expect me to slave around after you?!"

Vegeta remained indifferent to her outburst, his attention once again fell on the scenery beyond the window.

Of course, he expected it of her. No amount of mindless nagging and brattiness would get her out of it. She had a task, and she was going to complete it. Otherwise, he'd see to it that she never made it back home, because there would not be one to go back to.

Though Bulma often got on his nerves in such a short amount of time, there was something he had grown accustomed to since their first encounter. She was a brat and had the attitude of a woman that was never told no in her life – much similar to himself – and he supposed it was this that made it so humorous to toy with her. She had a strong head on her shoulders, and a fiery passion he initially thought he could extinguish – and so long as that fire remained ignited, he could barely bring himself to get rid of her.

Breaking people was a luxury he hardly had time to enjoy since spending a cold, and miserable childhood under the watchful gaze of Frieza.

But, he would get there.

"Answer me, asshole! You inconsiderate _jerk_ —" She was interrupted by a movement so fast she had no time to react. He was now mere inches from her, wearing that god-awful hint of a grin, daring her to continue.

"Don't allow me to stop you. By all means, continue," he challenged. He was cunning; but she could play his game twice as good, so long as she made it out alive after speaking her mind like she ached to do.

"Fixing the pods is one thing," Bulma seethed. "I am not helping you revive your planet just so you and your men can go and do exactly what Frieza does. You want me to continue? You're a bunch of cowards, preying on the vulnerable. And _you –_ you're no leader; you're almost as pathetic as your kingdom is dead."

 _Your kingdom is dead._

 _Frieza turned to face Vegeta, his hands clasped behind his back. There was a small grin on the corner of his mouth, barely noticeable, yet it spoke volumes. Vegeta's gut twisted, a primal rage coursed through his veins, his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides._

 _His shoulders drew back noticeably despite his attempt to remain subtle around the tyrant. Frieza was taller than him by much less than an inch. He could take him on._

 _"It's unfortunate, really," he mocked. His humoured tone said otherwise. "Such a waste."_

 _His lackeys, Zarbon and Dodoria stood close behind, eyeing down the prince with a sort of scepticism that their leaders prized possession was about to explode. Not that he would land a single hit, but they would be the ones to deal harsh consequences if the attempt was made._

 _"What did you—" Vegeta seethed through clenched teeth, refusing to let his anger be ignored._

 _"The filthy monkeys brought it upon themselves."_

 _There was a burst of white-hot light, deflected away from Frieza with a mere swipe of the hand. Vegeta's glare didn't falter, chest rising and falling, barely able to contain the sheer resentment he felt so passionately._

 _"…You know the price of insubordination," Frieza promptly left the room, and Vegeta backed away as Dodoria and Zarbon advanced on him._

The words had pierced the air like nails on a chalkboard – it was out, and there was no taking it back. Even so, as silence shrouded the room once more, Bulma instantly regretted her choice of an insult – even for her, and the situation at hand, it was a little too far. The tension was building so palpable, she could just about reach out and touch it.

Vegeta's expression hardened, the corners of his mouth turned down first into what Bulma had almost thought was a frown, and then his jaw clenched, bulging noticeably where his teeth came together hard enough to break them. His brows lowered, furrowed over his narrowed eyes. And those _eyes_ – Bulma thought with a shiver – so dark, so devoid of all emotion despite the rest of his expression.

She had never noticed just how black his eyes were, until they seemed to stop reflecting all light, and she had never realized just how much she'd grown accustomed to them until they had that distant, glazed-over look that could send anybody running. His eyes were his most prominent feature, aside from the muscles… and the tail.

"Prince Vegeta… I'll destroy her myself!" Nappa growled somewhere to the left. She wasn't paying attention.

The man with hair sticking out in all directions – who had an uncanny resemblance to a boy she had once met on Mt. Paozu back on Earth, merely stared. He seemed indifferent to the scene unfolding before him – he either believed she deserved whatever she was about to get, or he was sick of the prince himself. Either way, he wouldn't interject. It didn't involve him, so he wasn't bothered.

"Spoiled wench. You know, it's quite humorous," Vegeta's dead-panned expression said otherwise, "I had _actually_ _considered_ sending you on your way back to your pathetic world. I've had a sudden change of heart. In fact, you can say your farewells to any future opportunity of seeing your dear-old mother again."

Bulma slapped him, hard.

The furry appendage that had mostly resided neatly around his waist unravelled and shot up to curl tightly around her offending wrist. She let out a small gasp of shock; it was definitely a tail, as she had concluded some time ago, though she had the suspicion since first meeting the prince. The hair was surprisingly soft, despite it's rough and wiry appearance.

So, she thought as she readied her free hand to strike, they had come from an alien race of warrior… monkeys?

 _The filthy monkeys brought it upon themselves._

Her shoulder cocked back as she prepared her unoccupied hand. It swung through the air, caught effortlessly by Vegeta just inches from his cheek, who's crushing grip on her last attempt at provoking him had her drop to her knees in agony.

 _I'm surprised he's keeping you around with the way you talk to him._

Between the pain and the adrenaline, Zorn's observation echoed in Bulma's mind. She couldn't keep pandering to Vegeta and cowering before him like everybody else. She wouldn't. He didn't scare her. Not deep down, to where she would recoil whenever they made eye contact, or even to where he could intimidate her – but there wasn't exactly anything appealing about having your hand crushed, she came to realize.

With a particularly hard squeeze, eliciting a cry of agony from Bulma, Vegeta threw her hand down, and stepped past her. She cradled her throbbing limb to her chest with her free hand, tears stinging at her eyes. Vegeta spared a side-eyed glance down at her and grunted.

"Nappa, Turles. Do what you will. Just teach her a lesson," Vegeta gestured them forwards and he promptly turned and left the room, awfully close to where she kneeled. He smelled strangely fresh, compared to the stale scented men that rounded on her. That was just another peculiar feature she noticed on the prince to add to the list.

With the sweet, alien scent of some kind of otherworldly pine cone dissipating from her memory, Bulma's eyes filled with dread as the door slid closed behind him, leaving her alone with two men she could feeling leering at her, their intentions far from pure.

Vegeta brought the bottle to his lips and took a swig. The liquid burned his sinuses, and his throat as it went down. He was never fond of these beverages; they were cold reminders of his childhood, spent in isolation when he wasn't training, or drinking this bitter crap he didn't care for while Frieza's men cheered him on.

Hey. A challenge was a challenge.

"I can't say I'm fond of this place, but I suppose some of you aren't that bad."

Vegeta perked up, tossing the bottle onto one of the dining tables as he walked past. It shattered among a full banquet being torn into by the lower-class Saiyan's, who refused to say anything, and kept eating. Prince Vegeta never ate with his men; they were loud, obnoxious cretins for the most part.

His relatively fast-paced walk slowed as Bulma rounded the corner into the dining hall, between Nappa and Turles, who she was chatting with quite fondly. She made eye contact with the prince and smiled a little too bitterly.

"Stop," Vegeta ordered, arms crossed over his chest for show. The cacophony of boisterous laughter, yelling and chatter continued over the four. "What are you idiots doing? I told you to teach her a lesson, not _learn_ a lesson in… _friendship_ ," he snorted.

"We did," Nappa said dumbly. "Just not the kind you were probably expecting. She _is_ incredibly persuasive and insightful—"

"Enough," the prince scoffed, sounding as if another word would make him violently ill. Making eye contact with Bulma, he gestured for her to follow him, and curtly brushed past Turles on the way out of the dining room.

With a deep breath, Bulma followed. She wasn't sure how it happened, but apparently communication was a lot easier with the other Saiyans than it was with the stone-headed Vegeta. She was almost certain that she was going to be toast, but her loud mouth saved her just as fast as it had gotten her into trouble in the first place.

In silence, they made it half way down the corridor, before Vegeta came to a halt, and faced the woman that was turning out to be more of a bother than an amusing challenge with every frustrating word that left her mouth.

"Pull a stunt like that again and I'll personally see to it that your time here is worse than it has to be," he said sternly. "You're going to make yourself useful around here one way or another. If fixing our machinery is too difficult of a task for you, I'm sure the men will find… _other_ uses for you."

It was an empty threat. The men didn't need that kind of distraction in preparation of confronting Frieza – he merely hoped it was enough to set her straight. Still, he couldn't say he didn't love watching Bulma's cheeks turn pink in humiliation.

"In the meantime, while you aren't tending to the pods, you're going to start working on a gravity machine for me to train in."

"I've never even made a gravity machine before," Bulma seethed, finger pressed hard against Vegeta's chest. "I am not your servant and I certainly am not just some piece of meat you can push around. You're gonna keep me around? Fine by me, but I'm not your toy, got it?"

Vegeta merely grinned, that stupid malicious lopsided grin that made Bulma's blood boil, his arms once again crossed over his chest. It was a challenge; he silently dared her to act physically, like she had done in front of his men. Only, this time he wouldn't hold back like he kept doing.

But by God, would she let him push her around after everything she had been doing, and still had yet to do, for their own sinister cause. She had a primal urge to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Just because everyone until now has sat around wiping your ass for you, doesn't mean I will. You don't know who you're dealing with, I can be as tough as I am pretty."

Vegeta tensed, and Bulma suddenly realized where her finger was. His muscles shifted under her touch, hard as rock. Curse him, and his dumb, good body. It reminded Bulma vaguely of those calendars people would shove in your face back on Earth for a quick dollar and a 'good cause', a sweaty man with muscles holding a dog for every month of the year.

It was enough to make her puke, damn it.

Despite the uncomfortable situation, Vegeta couldn't help but notice her lingering touch – and, not to mention, her penetrative gaze. He'd already noticed how she would occasionally become transfixed on his body when they were nearby one another, but all he could do for the most part was stare dumbly while she appeared to have some kind of internal conflict.

"And before I forget," Vegeta grabbed Bulma's hand with a much lighter grip than earlier, and removed her finger from his chest, allowing her arm to swing back to her side while she blushed. "No meals until you get the gravity machine done. So, I'd get started if I were you."

With that, and a proud smirk adorning his ugly, cute, dumb face, he turned around, and walked away.

"…Pig!" Bulma called and returned the rude gesture he had thrown up over his shoulder, middle finger raised, despite the fact that he couldn't see it. With a frustrated yell, she promptly returned to her room.

Bulma spared a brief glance to the circular window of her bedroom door.

With no prying eyes on the other side, she lifted the mattress and slipped the small gadget out of a pocket she had cut into the material the first time she had slept there. Cradling the device in her hands, she watched in surprise as a few blinking lights appeared on the bottom of the grid.

Her expression softened in wonderment, and a devious smile spread across her delicate features.


	4. The New and Improved Bulma

**A/N: this chapter is relatively short, I figured I should get it out of the way so I can go back and edit the earlier chapters. I realize there are details I forgot to include and some that are simply unnecessary or contradicts pieces of the plot I'm writing as I go. You won't have to go back and re-read the chapters, I'll probably do a brief highlight of whatever I changed in the next chapter, but it shouldn't matter that much.**

 **Warning: very brief mention of sexual assault. Creepy Raditz. Nothing graphic or particularly horrible.**

 **I am a broken screen, I'm a mad routine,**

 **That's just patterned out, and I'm over it.**

 **CHAPTER FOUR: The New and Improved Bulma**

Bulma was awoken from a terrible dream, to the sound of her door opening and closing.

The sound was light, and careful, as of somebody trying to remain unnoticed. Bulma remained stock-still, preparing herself to fight back, should somebody grab her, or try something. The thought made her quiver – even worse was the knowledge that she would be powerless in that situation regardless.

As quick as the door had opened, it had closed, and Bulma was alone once more.

Even so, she waited patiently for a few moments before peering over her shoulder. No one. She rose into a seated position, wincing a little; her back was sore, and the mattress had done nothing to help. Even worse, was her wrist. Holding it up to meet the light that filtered in from the round window on the door, she inspected the hand-shaped bruise that wrapped around.

 _That prick. He should learn how to treat a lady._

Still, she thought, she could learn some manners herself.

A faint aroma caught Bulma's attention. Sniffing the air curiously, her eyes lingered back to the door. A glint of light on the floor brought her gaze down, and she slapped herself for not noticing it immediately upon waking up. There was a metallic tray, full of food.

It'd been days since she'd eaten.

Scrambling from the bed, Bulma found herself tearing into the suspicious meat and strange, bitter vegetables with an animalistic hunger. God. She was disgusting. Every passing day made her feel that much more disconnected from her truth of a well-respected and dignified human.

And yet, she couldn't stop herself.

Hands and face sticky with blood and other fluids from the food she was still sceptical of, Bulma contemplated how she was going to hide such a mess from the other Saiyan's, who were aware of the cruel restrictions placed on her.

Or, better yet, Vegeta, who had authorized the food restrictions in the first place.

Maybe that'd be the final straw for him, if even a task as simple as starving was curved by the filthy human. The others would wake up soon enough – and they'd be pounding on her door too.

She wiped her hands on herself and –

Oh my _God,_ she reeked. Had it really been that long since her last shower? Surely not. It had to be her clothes, which she had been forced to re-wear, with no other alternative having even crossed her mind.

With the tray hidden under her playsuit – there was no way in Hell she'd leave the food's residue to rot and fester in the only place she found comfort - Bulma approached Vegeta, who dined alone in the mess hall.

"What do _you_ want?"

Aside from his usual arrogant, and irritable self, he seemed particularly tense. Rarely did he remove his eyes from the feast between mouthfuls of food, and when he did, he gazed at Bulma with a certain distance. His expression was otherwise blank and pointed.

"Uh – clothes. I need some fresh clothes."

"Does this look like a shopping mall to you?"

Bulma swallowed down the angry retort she was prepared to give and settled with reason.

"Surely there are Saiyan women somewhere on this ship. Are you telling me you don't have even one spare outfit?"

Vegeta stared. They did have Saiyan women, yes. Most of them had either perished along with the planet, or were now in hiding somewhere in the galaxy, unaware that a whole fleet of their fellow warriors had survived and were ambitiously navigating through space. Finding them was a priority, when the time and resources presented itself.

"Hm. You reek," Vegeta observed, nose scrunched up.

"Further indication that I _need_ new clothes; I'm filthy!"

"Quit your yapping, woman," Vegeta reluctantly stood up. His appetite was askew anyhow; there were too many things on his mind, matters more important than eating.

Bulma followed him in silence.

Majority of the ship remained undiscovered to her; it came as no surprise when they entered a room, maybe double the size of her assigned bedroom, dedicated entirely to the Saiyan's signature attire. In illuminated display cases set in the wall, different varieties of the armor were mounted on stands. Bronze, gold, even green and a dark, navy blue.

Vegeta didn't pay any mind to them. Instead, he tapped a small metal panel on the wall. With a beep, and a hiss, a rectangular drawer slid from the wall and he began absent-mindedly rummaging through its contents. He handed Bulma something; it was difficult to see in the dark of the room, with limited fluorescent lighting, but the feeling of spandex under her fingertips gave it away.

"Go get cleaned. You have 5 minutes."

The high neckline reminiscent of a turtle-neck shirt, and long sleeves were definitely a warmer alternative to the playsuit she'd been re-wearing. Though, the bottom half fit more like bummers –a bit longer than Nappa's spandex - a bit of chill was something she'd grown to ignore.

Bulma had to stop and appreciate the way the black spandex leotard fit her curves. It was weightless, and comfortable – almost as if she wasn't wearing anything at all. It'd take some getting used to, but she'd blend in a little easier now – if not for her vibrant blue hair and comparatively frail figure.

She tied her hair into a bun, tucked the loose strands behind her ear, and with a last quick pirouette before the mirror-dominated wall, she left the bathroom. There was a renewed spring to her step; she was fed, clean, and felt like a million bucks, despite the situation.

Vegeta, on the other hand, looked far less than impressed when she finally emerged from the bathroom. His gaze swept up and down her body, and when his moody expression held, Bulma began to feel self-conscious for the first time in probably years.

 _I suppose it's better than him leering or making lewd comments,_ she thought. _Honestly, what was I expecting? Balloons? A celebration?_

" _Hmph._ If you're going to dress in the right attire, you may as well do so properly," he said, and thrusted armour into her chest, her hands flying up to hug it to her body as he let go. "One size fits all. And it's the only one you're going to get."

The bronze chest plate was smooth, Bulma noted. And stretchy, for such hard material. She balled her fists and gave it a few quick knocks _\- ting, ting, ting –_ and wasted no time in slipping it over her head, where it moulded to her torso, much like the spandex.

"Uh… _Thanks,_ Vegeta. You know, I don't think you're as cold as you let on—"

"Don't think this changes anything," his gruff voice had no hint of amusement to it, not even in the cynical way it usually did. Perhaps his pride was wounded. Bulma couldn't blame him, especially if it was because he found himself attracted to her. Most men did. "Uniform is a formality under my rule. As far as I'm concerned, you're still a no-good Earthling brat."

"Whatever you say," Bulma muttered, promptly returning to the med wing.

 _I should be done the gravity-crap in a matter of days. I suppose at some point I should thank Zorn for feeding me._

A wolf-whistle followed by boisterous laughter snapped Bulma out of her thoughts.

 _Oh, great. Just terrific._

Bulma wasn't sure where she got her luck from – but it certainly wasn't her mother, who was probably relaxing at home, if not worried sick.

Raditz licked his lips, his dark eyes following the movements of her hips as she approached. Behind him, a group of Saiyan's she was unfamiliar with encouraged him darkly, as if she were a prize to be won. Every instinct in her body told her to turn the other way.

She kept walking.

A mere few steps away from the burly group, she pivoted to the right and made to walk past them. The medical wing was _so close_. Zorn could probably hear every interaction. If she was smart about it, she could run. They'd probably catch up to her, but she could _run._

"Where do you think you're going?"

A furry appendage slid around her waist and before she could react, Bulma was yanked backwards, the air leaving her lungs.

More laughter resonated through the corridor. Bulma immediately thought of a carnivore circling its prey, roaring, and baring its teeth, playing with its food before devouring it. They're pack hunters, she thought. The only one thing worse she could think of than being sexually assaulted by one Saiyan was being assaulted by four.

The first thing Bulma noticed, was that Raditz' hands were _big._ He seized her wrists; his large fingers wrapped all the way around with room to spare. Her bruise ached. If she kicked him, would he even feel it?

"If Vegeta finds out you—"

" _Prince_ Vegeta said on the first night, to do with you as we please, so long as you can still fulfil your duties. Perhaps you need a reminder."

Bulma remembered. She had specifically snapped at Vegeta for making such an irresponsible statement, essentially inviting anyone who heard to treat her like a glorified piece of meat if they so choose. So much for being a decent person underneath that rough exterior. She wondered if he'd even feel the slightest pinch of sympathy for her.

"So long as I can still fulfil my duties – which you're keeping me from. So, let me go."

And despite the toughness she was always so good at feigning, Bulma could feel a panic attack coming on. Her face burned, and tears stung at her eyes. She was shaking, he could probably feel it. Hell – it probably got the jerk going. The other men hooted and hollered, making jabs at how weak she was.

Whatever they wanted to do, realistically, she couldn't stop them. They were nothing like Earth men. And it was this realization that truly set off such a panicked reaction.

"Maybe I will… if you beg."

"I'm not going to beg."

A chorus of amused _Ooooh's._ Suppose, she had been sightly wrong. They _were_ quite similar to human men in more ways than Bulma would care to admit. It was almost funny.

Raditz' expression hardened, eyes narrowed, and smirk replaced by a scowl. He brought his face down to hers, uncomfortably close. Bulma could feel his breath on her mouth, even as she moved her head back, away from his. She was completely speechless, and for the first time, unable to form a witty remark.

"I think you are."

"Enough!" Zorn's voice boomed from the direction Bulma had been headed. He stood by the medical lab entrance, looking less than impressed with the unfolding scene. "Don't you boys have a mission to prepare for?"

Bulma waited, gazing hard at Raditz, for him to release her hands. With a particularly nasty look, he unwrapped his tail, and beckoned for his group to follow as he took his leave.

She gasped, making her way to Zorn on legs weak and shaky. The ghostly presence of thick, bushy fur remained around her waist, even as Raditz disappeared down the winding hall. Her wrists ached. Vegeta didn't scare Bulma nearly as much as Raditz had in that moment. There was a hesitation to him.

"Are you…?" Zorn trailed off, giving her a pointed stare.

Was she okay? No. Nothing about her situation was okay. Sometimes, she felt close enough to normal. At least she had routine, and purpose. Ultimately, she was regarded as nothing more than a slave; a plaything to occupy all the boredom on the ship while they jumped from planet to planet doing God knows what.

"Thanks," Bulma mumbled as she rushed past him, eager to be in the safety of her workspace.

She slumped into her chair and resumed her work, analysing different parts of the pods for replication. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, face burning. Tears filled her eyes, all the fear and frustrations catching up to her at once.

Zorn cleared his throat, and asked awkwardly, "do you… require a break?"

 _Yes. A permanent break._

Bulma shook her head, barely sparing him a glance. She was grateful for his concern, just didn't have the pride to express it in such an emotionally vulnerable state. Besides, any words that left her lips would probably result in a full emotional break-down.

With Vegeta out doing God-knows-what once again, Bulma wondered how often this might happen to her. She felt sick.

One pod was just about repaired, no thanks to Zorn. At least Malaka and Planthorr were willing to provide a helping hand here and there, even if they were mostly useless. Still, her routine consisted only of fixing, inventing, and then returning to her room to scheme in private, for something that had been on her mind since the Dragon radar showed a few pulsating blips.

Bulma's apprehension only grew as she considered her possibilities. The chance to escape. It was merely a matter of the pod being in working condition - and preferably tested by a Saiyan beforehand to ensure her own safety – and being close enough to whichever planet the Dragon Balls were on so that she could make a quick escape without the risk of being immediately intercepted. They were still much too far away to do anything yet.

She buzzed with anticipation as she reviewed the schematics of the pods once more. The language was foreign, but the concepts were easy enough to follow. Besides, Zorn doubled up as a translator when needed.

The rest of the pods would be ten times easier, and quicker to repair after the first.

Time dragged on, until Bulma had mostly forgotten about the prior incident. She had calmed down considerably.

"I forgot to thank you for feeding me this morning," Bulma said from across the workbench, eyeing the man that she personally considered a friend. She was still talking in days and hours and time that had no realistic purpose in the depth of space. It was what made her feel normal.

"Hmm?" Zorn asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Bulma suddenly felt dejected; she had assumed it had been him who fed her. After all, it was to him she mostly complained of hunger. "I didn't feed you."

"Uhh—I—" Bulma was confused in her own right.

"Somebody went against Vegeta's authority? For your own sake, I suggest you don't bring it up again. How odd."

The ship would touch down, very soon, on land the Planet Trade had not yet ravished and claimed. His men would scavenge for food and materials, like they did every now and again when resources became scarce. But that time could not come quicker. Each moment spent on the ship brought him closer to snapping. Especially with Raditz boasting to his men at every conceivable moment, how he had boldly approached the Earth woman – and would have gone further had it not been for Zorn.

It was disgusting – pure filth how they spoke amongst each other. Suppose, that's what separated a dignified Saiyan prince from the lower class. Their lack of self-control. Their boastfulness about such crude topics. They could stand to learn a thing or two.

Vegeta grunted, wondering what he did to deserve such a bothersome crew – and _Bulma_ of all people, who proved to be a challenge in her own right. Earth was a populous planet, with some 7 billion inhabitants. And he was cursed with Bulma.

The first of the humans they had killed and interrogated upon landing pointed them in her direction. They were caught for time, with already limited resources, unable to take many more people aboard. There weren't really any other options, and now, she was there to stay.

He once again found himself arranging an assortment of leftovers and scraps on a tray. Next time she wouldn't be so lucky.


End file.
